


"Thomas" - [Tom Hiddleston - October/Halloween one shot].

by A_Wolf



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, hiddlestoners
Genre: A.Wölf, F/M, Halloween, October, Tumblr: theartofimagining13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Wolf/pseuds/A_Wolf
Summary: Thomas was born in 1851. He died in 1886 but continued to walk the earth as something other than human. This is him telling his story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story in High School for my Literature class. It was originally called “Alistair”. It’s been changed for this.
> 
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

**Originally posted at** : [The Art of Imagining](http://theartofimagining13.tumblr.com/).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

* * *

Dusk.

Another day ends and its overwhelming light dies as the sun sets. Night time comes, an eternal cycle, for me at least.

I was born in London, 1851. My mother was a local theater actress, and my father was the pianist of the plays she starred in.  They married young but he was 3 years older than her. Father taught me how to play, and after living with them for 20 years, I finally decided it was time to leave the nest, and travel so I could discover what I wanted in life.

I was in Mexico and Brazil before I went back to Europe to visit Italy, Rome, Greece, France, Switzerland, Spain, and Germany. I didn’t go back to London until I was 23 years old, and I ended up charging for piano lessons at home. Throughout the years, I discovered that nothing truly satisfied me more than music… that was until I met _her._

* * *

Elizabeth was a student of mine. She was a breathtakingly beautiful 18-year-old girl, and a much more talented pianist than I was. I was beyond mesmerized… I felt as if my heart would jump out of my chest every time I looked at her. I was 15 years older than her. 33-year-old-me courted her of course. We went on promenades on most evenings, we dined every now and then, until I confessed my love and she reciprocated.

My life continued with Elizabeth as my assistant, and most importantly, my beloved fiancée; eventually my wife. But 2 years later, in 1886, an artistic and literary movement, called _“Symbolism”_ changed my life. I immersed myself in a world of dark poetry that went against everything I had heard before, thanks to a group of talented men known as _“The damned poets”._

I desperately wanted to be a part of it, part of that antithesis of romance and other things, so I traveled to France on my own. Ironically, I knew the purest form of love, and yet I aspired to write the complete opposite. I spent a few months there, meeting poets, studying, and writing.

I’m not sure if I regret this or not… but after this trip, my humanity was no more.

* * *

It was my last night in France. I was headed to my hotel, walking under the rain, when I was violently thrown to the ground, and my face hit the wet pavement. I couldn’t see my attacker, I just felt something cold weighing me down, keeping me still. The last thing I remember was feeling a pair of fangs sinking into my neck and wrist, and my body being dragged into an alley, behind a couple of trashcans.

* * *

My eyes shot open. My throat was burning. I wanted to scream but I remembered I had been attacked, the assailant could be near, so I did everything in my power to keep my mouth shut and endure the pain. I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest. The fire in my veins and my throat knocked me unconscious again.

I hid there for three days.

The pain got worse. I could feel it wrecking my heart until it finally ceased to beat.

* * *

I jumped to my feet in a swift motion. My senses were sharp and clear. I stuck my head out the alley, I could hear a group of men walking and laughing 3 blocks away, I could almost see them as if they were right next to me, and then, I smelled something exquisite; I was starving.

I finally walked out of the alley, and followed the smell like a hound dog.

I saw a woman coming out of the theater, and I approached her out of instinct, looking nervous, scared even. She noticed me and her eyes went wide with fear. How did I look? I had been very ill and submerged in rubbish for 3 days straight. My clothes were stained of course, I probably smelled, but none of that stopped me, I wasn’t thinking really, I just followed my still heart.

I moved too fast for her to realize, and once she did, it was already too late. I carried her and jumped to the theater’s rooftop. I had to be dreaming. How was all this possible? She was terrified, but before she could scream, I leaned in slowly and she looked me in the eye, almost hypnotized. I could hear her heartbeat settling down. My lips touched her cheek briefly, the tip of my nose brushed against her neck, and the burning sensation in my throat was back; I knew how to quench the thirst… so I bit her neck, and sucked her blood.

The taste of it, I can’t describe it, it was invigorating, but at the same time I felt guilty. What was wrong with me? I had heard the stories of course, mostly silly tales about creatures of the night who fed on blood. I thought it was all pure entertainment. But what had I just done? I killed an innocent young woman. There was a word to describe me but I shook my head as I laid her dead body on the ground. Since when did I believe in ghouls, ghosts, and whatnot? It couldn’t be.

I thought of Elizabeth. How was I supposed to present myself to her like this? I was a threat. My train of thought was interrupted when I suddenly felt watched. I turned around to find a man standing there. He wore a well tailored suit, a cape and a top hat. His eyes were red.

I seemed to have left my common sense and survival instinct in that alley, otherwise I would’ve run away, but I got closer to him instead, I found him alluring.

_“Follow me”_ he said, and so I did.

Not a word was spoken as I walked right behind him, following him into another alley, and then into the sewer; a candlelit path below French streets. Who would’ve thought?

We kept descending until we reached a big golden door. It could’ve been the gate to a castle. It opened before us and we entered. It was a big room with a throne at the center. Three red-eyed-men were scattered around it. They wore black hooded cloaks.

_“Ah, Henri. Magnificent job!”_ One of them exclaimed looking at the man who had brought me here and then at me.

_“Arthur”_ Henry said with a nod before taking his leave.

_“A newborn! Isn’t that wonderful?”_ Arthur sung, walking towards me, _“Please pardon my lack of manners. My name is Arthur Katz.”_

He pushed the hood back. His skin was white as snow, and he had long black hair.

I remained silent which denoted my confusion, and he noticed. He clapped once, and two servants brought a big wooden frame. A painting perhaps but I couldn’t tell, since its back was facing me.

_“This might be a little difficult to understand_ …” he started, _“but you must suspect something’s not right about you.”_

He turned the frame around, it was a mirror. I looked at myself. My eyes were just as red as theirs, my curly hair seemed darker, and I had never been this pale. I could feel 3 pairs of eyes on me, making me feel like an experiment or an attraction.

_“Enjoy it while it lasts”._ One of them said.

_“Pardon me?”_ were my first words.

_“Ernest.”_ Arthur warned sending a glare his way, before adding, _“What my friend means is, your reflection will fade in time, and once it does, your transformation will be completed”._

_“My transformation?”_ I echoed.

Arthur only hummed.

_“Who are you?”_ I asked.

_“We’re royalty, my child. We’ve walked the earth for nearly 300 years”._

_“You called me a newborn earlier. What do you mean?”_

_“Patience. You’ll get your answers. That burning sensation in your throat when a human’s scent invades your nostrils has an explanation”._ He started pacing around me as spoke. _“You’re different now. You can no longer meet the sun, it’ll only turn you into a pile of ashes. You’ll sleep during the day instead, and wake up at night to… hunt.”_ He stood behind me put his hands on my shoulders and whispered in my ear, _“You are a vampire”._

I looked in the mirror again. I heard him and I felt him behind me, but he was not reflecting.

* * *

Arthur explained all I needed to know; abilities, rules, punishments. The golden rule was to keep this a secret. No one could know. Rumors about immortal creatures already circulated but it was the vampires who made sure they were handled as legends or tales. But who had done this to me?

_“You can’t just make a new vampire without reason. Whoever did this to you will be punished”_ Arthur had said.

* * *

I finally decided to go back to London. I had stayed 2 days longer than planned, Elizabeth must’ve been worried. But how was I going to keep this from her? I loved her. I couldn’t leave her. I felt like I was strong enough to resist the urge to bite her, but was I really?

* * *

_My name is Thomas William Hiddleston. I was born in February 9th 1851, and died on October 31 st 1886; frozen at 35 years of age for eternity._

* * *

I had to wait until sunset to walk into my own home.

Elizabeth was asleep. I carefully lied down next to her without waking her. I had missed her terribly, but the smell of her blood made my throat burn with thirst. I had to hunt… otherwise her life would be at stake. I couldn’t ignore my new instincts, couldn’t resist these new urges, so I ended up feeding on two strangers before I returned to the house and woke her up, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the new me in the dark.

_“Thomas… oh, Thomas!”_ She exclaimed wrapping her arms tightly around me, _“I missed you so much.”_

_“I’m here”,_ I said, _“And I’m never leaving. Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning”_ I lied, pressing my lips to her forehead.

Perhaps I could sleep in the cellar, leave a note before dawn so she’ll think I’m out, and then make it look like I came back after sunset.

I made a fist until my knuckles turned white. How tedious and pathetic. I should’ve faked my own death, but I couldn’t leave her, not my Elizabeth… never. I was sure I could make it work. How selfish.

* * *

I spent a couple hours reading in the living room. It was still dark outside when I heard Elizabeth moving around. She walked in with a three arm candle holder in her right hand, she had changed into another nightgown and she put her hair up… dolled herself up for me. Yet all I could focus on, was the choker around neck. Her big smile faded abruptly when the candlelight allowed her to get a good look at my face; she froze in place.

_“Wh-what’s happened to you?”_ she asked.

I didn’t say a world.

_“Thomas, are you ill?”_

What was there to say? What if I broke the golden rule? Who would know? I was alone in this house with my wife. Were older vampires assigned to follow and spy on newborns? That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t lie to Elizabeth. If I chose to, I’d have to do it for years, and the thought of having to explain why her hair grayed but mine didn’t was exhausting; if she truly loved me… she would understand.

Perhaps she’d want to be turned.

_“Darling, sit down”_

I reached for her hand and as soon as I touched her, she flinched and took a step back, wide eyed.

_“You’re so cold… why are you so cold?”_

I took a deep breath. I had to tell her, I had no choice. I tried to explain everything as thoroughly as I could, but there was no easy way to do so, and I could tell that she was terrified. Terrified of the man she loved.

_“I’m still me”_ I said when I finished.

_“I don’t know what to think…”_ She said in a whisper, “ _It’s you… but it isn’t. Thomas… you couldn’t kill anyone”._

A tear ran down her cheek.

_“I love you”_ she added before a sob escaped her, _“but I don’t think I can condone this.”_

_“Elizabeth…”_

_“You’ve murdered innocent people, William!”_

She never called me William, unless her blood was boiling and her heart was breaking. If mine still beat, I could’ve heard it breaking too.

_“What am I saying? This is a bad dream, this isn’t really happening!”_ She cried.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away.

I was furious. How could she? I thought she loved me. The anger made me thirsty, I needed a distraction from the horrible thoughts revolving around my head. Her rejection made me want to drain her, but I knew that was the beast in me talking, I was still a man somehow. Arthur had said something about the transformation completing… perhaps I still had a bit of humanity in me.

* * *

I went downstairs, into the library, sat at the piano, and played my anger away with a dramatic piece, loud and full of sentiment or what was left of it in me, until it became a soft melody. My heightened senses made me better at it. As I kept on playing, I heard Elizabeth’s footsteps getting closer. I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall to my right. My reflection wasn’t there anymore, I could only see the keys moving but no one was playing them; the transformation had been completed.

Elizabeth stood before me with her hands behind her back and eyes glued to the ground, looking like a child who’s deeply sorry after being scolded. I stopped playing, put my index finger under her chin and lifted it so she’d look me in the eye. She inched closer and sat on my lap, but every movement was done slowly. She was still afraid of me, but even though her proximity had me parched, my feelings for her were much greater, I couldn’t lay a finger on her.

She put her left hand on my cheek, studying me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen.

She moved her hand to my hair and leaned in. Her kiss was urgent, desperate, like a warning. I felt the tears sprouting in her eyes, but I closed mine, letting go, and put my hands on her hips. I wanted her. My desire was butchered when she drove a dagger through my cold rotten heart; the one she’d been holding behind her back this whole time without me noticing.

My eyes went wide and she buried her face in the crook of my neck to murmur,

_“You’re condemned, my love. I rather watch you die than kill to live”._

Her words were much more painful than the dagger. I became enraged, and without hesitation, I ripped her black ribbon choker off her neck and sunk my teeth into her, sucked her dry until the pink color left her cheeks. I could’ve turned her… but I ended her life. I murdered the love of my life.

Oh, the irony. She couldn’t bear the _thought_ of me assassinating someone, yet she was more than willing to kill me. I looked at her lifeless body lying on the floor and pulled the dagger out of my chest. Poor Elizabeth died in vain. That’s not how you kill a vampire. A dagger’s useless, a wooden stake on the other hand…

* * *

I’ve lived this life for 130 years now.

I’ve learned and seen incredible things. Clothes have changed so much throughout the years, not to mention customs and traditions. Technology is so odd, computers, internet?

I witnessed the construction of the Eiffel tower in 1889, read _“The interpretation of dreams”_ by Freud when it was published in 1899, heard everything about the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, World war I and II, the Holocaust, the terrorist attack in New York City; humans are… very complex creatures, not so complex at the same time.

There are many others like me out there.

I’ve moved thousands of times but I keep coming back to London. I do miss Elizabeth sometimes… but her selfishness blinded her, and left her bloodless… but she was right.

_I am condemned to live forever in the dark, and I murder people in order to survive._


End file.
